


i'm only a fool for you

by santiagone



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 06:41:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9708797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santiagone/pseuds/santiagone
Summary: Jyn pins him with a look. Green eyes. Pressed mouth. Half smile, half intensity. “Then why do you keep hovering? Saving him from me?”Saving you from him, he thinks, but even thethoughtof it is a bad idea. Jyn Erso doesn't need saving; he doesn't think she ever did. But she does need something else, something that they're both a little too afraid of. He could give that to her, he thinks. If he weren't scared. If she'd let him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> a lovely gift for the even lovelier [cornflower-queen](http://cornflower-queen.tumblr.com/), who requested a modern au. it's been lovely having you as a valentine, and i do hope you enjoy!  
> title and lyrics from idfc (tarro remix); blackbear, which is what i listened to when writing this.

_Cause I have hella feelings for you,_  
_I act like I don't fucking care,_  
_'Cause I'm so fucking scared_

 

_._

_._

_._

 

Cassian spots her on a Thursday night. There’s a sharpness in her eyes that he can't quite quantify, but that's nothing compared to the way she lifts her fist and punches a guy in the nose.

He exchanges a look with Kay, and in a minute he's up on his feet, pushing through the crowd that's gathered. He reaches her just as she's about to swing for another, and her glare hits him at full force when he grabs her elbow; stops her.

“Let go of me,” she snaps.

“I can't,” Cassian says evenly. “You punch him again, you're in serious trouble.”

“Then there's nothing new there,” says the woman, hair falling in front of her face, eyes blazing. She pulls again, sharp, and he digs his fingers into her arm meaningfully.

“That's Orson Krennic, he owns half this city. He’ll make your life hell if you're not careful.”

“He already has,” she spits.

“Then he’ll make it worse,” he warns. “Just let him go. You've broken his nose, he’s down for the count. You’ve won. Now let him go.”

“He deserves a hell of a lot more than a broken nose.” But to his great surprise, she stops resisting. Instead, she flexes her fingers, grimacing slightly, and he follows her glare to Orson Krennic, who is cradling his nose and pale with fury.

“Let me assist you,” says Kay cordially, helping Krennic to his feet, looking mildly disgusted at the thought of physical contact.

“I'm fine,” Krennic snarls, only to stumble when Kay immediately relinquishes his grip. If Cassian didn't know better, he might even suspect that there is mild satisfaction on Kay’s face at the sight.

“Fine. You can help yourself.”

Krennic disappears, but the woman doesn't shake her tension in the slightest. Cassian drops her arm and she stiffens, like she's ready to run after Krennic and finish what she started. But then she eyes him and Kay, and digresses into a scowl of her own, arms crossing.

“The hell are you?”

“Cassian Andor,” he says mildly. “This is Kay.”

“But do not address me as that,” informs Kay. “In fact, do not address me at all. I would rather you did not talk to me.”

“Charming,” says the woman drily. “You should stay out of my business. Krennic has it coming.”

“Why?” Cassian asks, raising his eyebrows.

She turns to him, gaze sharp. He knows she's going to deflect even before she opens her mouth.

“Why'd you stop me?”

“What's your name?” he counters.

Her gaze grows flinty. “How do you know Orson Krennic? Why are you playing the hero?”

He crosses his arms, unrelenting. “Why do you feel the need to rearrange the features of his face?”

There’s a loud sigh from Kay, and they both turn to stare at him.

“I grow tired of this. Find me at the bar,” Kay says, disappearing into the crowd, and Cassian settles his gaze back on Jyn, scrutinising. Wild eyes, jutted chin, bruises on her knuckles.

“You should treat that,” he says.  

She snorts. “Stay out of my business.”

“Fine.” He digs his hands into his pockets, nods at her once. “I mean it. Don't pick a fight with Orson Krennic.”

She rolls his eyes at him, looks down to inspect her knuckles, and he takes that as his answer. But as he's stepping away, he hears her voice.

“Hey. Cassian Andor,” she calls, and he turns around. She's not smiling at him, but it's something different from the surly look he's seen from her so far, and it makes her look a little younger.

“Yes?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

“I won't go picking fights with Orson Krennic,” she says begrudgingly, and his lips twitch upwards of their own accord, just for one insignificant, showstopping moment.

“Good. And?” They both know he’s waiting for a thank you. They both know he's not going to get it.

“Jyn Erso,” she says instead, and it might even be a little better than thanks.

 

.

.

.

 

The next night, Jyn seems incredibly surprised to see him perched on a seat at the bar. Her eyes narrow, but she slides in beside him, regardless.

“Why are you here?”

He pushes a glass of whiskey towards her. “Why'd you tell me you weren't coming back for Orson Krennic?”

Her fingers wrap around the glass; she shakes her head, an incredulous noise spilling from her lips. “You didn't believe me.”

“You weren't telling the truth,” he points out. “I know people like you. You’ll go behind my back the moment I look away.”

“Guess you're going to have to keep an eye on me, then,” she says roughly, eyes fixing on his. A challenge.

He grins at her, somewhat crookedly. “Guess I am.”

 

.

.

.

 

Kay walks into his apartment on Sunday evening without knocking (which he is used to), makes himself instantly at home (which he is used to), and sets a pile of papers firmly down on the kitchen bench (which he is not used to).

“Kay, what—”

“I did some digging,” Kay says without preamble.

Cassian picks up a file skeptically. “In a graveyard?”

“On Jyn Erso,” Kay corrects, and Cassian looks up at him instantly, eyes sharp. “Do not look at me like that, Cassian.”

“Kay,” says Cassian again, and Kay folds his arms.

“As your friend, I have taken the liberty of noticing sudden or drastic changes within your usual routine. Jyn Erso has fallen, predictably, into this class, and although I can't understand _why_ , I’ve collected some data on her, organised them by relevance pertaining to you. I thought that you would be interested.”

“You collected data on the girl from the bar,” Cassian scoffs. The paper suddenly feels blisteringly hot in his hands.

“You address her as ‘the girl from the bar,’” Kay observes curiously, “but I have detected familiarity that is beyond that term. You are fond of Jyn Erso.” Cassian stiffens, and Kay pauses. “Perhaps that phrasing was incorrect. You are interested by Jyn Erso.”

“I am not anything by Jyn Erso,” says Cassian, reaching for his coat. “I've got to go, Kay.”

“Where?” Kay calls just before Cassian gets out the door. There is something smug in his voice that makes Cassian think he knows a little too much. “You are going to the bar, aren't you?” accuses Kay. “You have been to the bar more consecutive nights this month than last month, and the only factor that has changed is Jyn Erso.”

“Maybe I just need a drink,” Cassian mutters, and closes the door.

 

.

.

.

 

He arrives fifteen minutes before her, as he usually does. Orson Krennic hasn't arrived yet, but he will in about half an hour’s time and retreat to his corner, like he does every night. Predictably, Jyn always picks the spot at the bar that is best for glaring at Krennic over her drink, so Cassian sits at the stool with the good view, and is not the slightest bit surprised when she walks in and dumps herself next to him.

“You're still here,” says Jyn, and there's something like surprise on her tongue.

“So are you.”

“Yes,” she concedes, eyeing him, “but I have an agenda.”

“So do I,” he says. “I'm here to stop you from killing Krennic.”

“I was never going to kill him,” says Jyn, accepting a glass from the bartender without sparing a second look. “But a little mutilating would have been fine.” Cassian shakes his head, returns to his glass, and pretends not to notice the way her gaze is fixed on him curiously. “You never told me,” she says finally. “Why you want to play the hero, I mean. Are you Krennic’s bodyguard? Do you owe him a favour?”

“I hate Krennic,” he informs her. “He makes lives miserable.”

Jyn pins him with a look. Green eyes. Pressed mouth. Half smile, half intensity. “Then why do you keep hovering? Saving him from me?”  

 _Saving you from him_ , he thinks, but even the _thought_ of it is a bad idea. Jyn Erso doesn't need saving; he doesn't think she ever did. But she does need something else, something that they're both a little too afraid of. He could give that to her, he thinks. If he weren't scared. If she'd let him.

He's hesitated for a moment too long; he can see it in her eyes. She presses her mouth into a line and looks very small then, suddenly, in a way that her bravery and humanity have always blocked before.

“Why are you friends with Kay?” asks Jyn, and they both breathe a silent sigh of relief at the diversion of topic. He raises his eyebrows at her and shrugs.

“He's entertaining.”

“He's obnoxious,” she corrects. “He hates me.”

“He doesn't hate you,” Cassian says reflexively, and at her look, he reevaluates. “He's well meaning. He watches out for me. He thinks you're dangerous.”

“Why?” presses Jyn. “You're just as reckless as me. You upset more people than I do, you just do it gracefully. I've seen it.” He glances at her, careful surprise rimming the edges of his vision, and she grows uncomfortable then, like she's shared something she isn't supposed to. “What damage does he think I can do?”

“I have no idea,” he says, a small grin curling at his lips, picking up his glass to cheers it to hers. But there's a storm inside his mind, and at the eye of it are a pair of green eyes, and what he really wants to say is, _you have no idea_.

 

.

.

.

 

The days pass by, and they settle into a routine. He waits at the seat with the best view of Orson Krennic, she slips in next to him fifteen minutes later, and they exchange drinks whilst Jyn glares at Krennic. And in between the nights, Cassian falls back into his normal life, deftly ignoring Kay’s snide comments about Jyn, pretending valiantly like she doesn't exist, and it's like he's living two separate lives. Cassian Andor, the working man, the ambitious man, the man who has his head on straight and his priorities even straighter, the aspirational man working in line for a promotion. Then at night, he is Cassian Andor, the smug man, who feels a little too much and laughs a little too hard, whose skin starts to tingle when Jyn nudges him with her shoulder, who forgets about his job and his responsibilities and remembers how to _live_ , how to _breathe_.

And, somewhere along the way, without him even noticing it, the line between his two worlds has begun to blur. He sees familiarity in the colour green on his way to work, he stops testing out different scents of cologne when Jyn lets it slip that she likes his latest one, and once, he makes a comment to his boss that is so unlike him and so like her that Draven stares at him for several hard minutes and then sends him home for a sick day.

“You seem different,” observes Chirrut one day over dinner. “Happier. You smile more.”

“You can't even see,” Cassian tells him.

Chirrut smiles. “I don't need to. I can hear it in your voice.”

Which, predictably, encourages Cassian to exchange a rolling of eyes with Baze across the table.

“You should invite her to dinner,” says Chirrut evenly, but Cassian pauses with the fork halfway to his mouth. The way Chirrut seems to know everything is scary, but the prospect of walking over the fine line of boundaries he and Jyn have set is scarier.

“Maybe,” he says.

“He's not going to,” says Baze.

“You don't know that,” Chirrut replies.

Baze glances at Cassian over the table and shoves a forkful of food in his mouth. “I do. Jyn Erso is fickle. Flighty. She will be too afraid of commitment to accept. Jyn is a runner. Promise her a home, and she'll make herself an orphan.”

“Yes,” considers Chirrut, “you two are very similar in that aspect.” But there is something very fond in the way he says it, and Cassian takes a bite of food and tries not to pretend like there is something oppressive and bitter lingering at the base of his throat.

 

.

.

.

 

“Fuck,” says Jyn, glaring daggers at the retreating bartender’s back, and Cassian has to bite his cheek hard so he doesn't smile at her. It is a Wednesday, and the thermostat has broken, but the bar still thrives with people, rubbing their hands together and basking in laughter and alcohol to keep themselves warm.

“You're cold,” Cassian says, seeing the way her lips are just a little too tight, her fingers a little too white, like she's trying to pretend she's perfectly fine.

“You're not?” she shoots back.

“I grew up in the warmth, but I like the cold,” he says. “This is nothing.”

“I grew up on a farm,” she says, which surprises him, because Jyn rarely offers things up about herself. “For a little while, anyway.”

“Did you like it there?” he asks, giving up on the pretence of not watching her.

“Not sure. When I was a kid, maybe. Now there's just a lot of memories.” She scowls in Orson Krennic’s direction again, something deeper in the lines around her mouth this time. “I think the memories ruined it for me.”

He doesn't press; just lets a bottle of alcohol dangle from his fingertips and fall into her hands.

“You'll just have to make some new ones, then.”

Jyn glances at him, and the corners of her mouth pull. A smile from Jyn Erso. Small. But it's noticeable. It's there. His ribcage suddenly feels a little too tight, and he shrugs off his jacket, presses it into her hands. She flinches, hard, and Cassian remembers his dinner with Chirrut and Baze. _Promise her a home, and she'll make herself an orphan_.

“I should go,” he says, and she nods once, firmly, and says nothing, and he swallows hard as he sweeps out the door.

 

.

.

.

 

 _Promise her a home, and she'll make herself an orphan_. Baze’s words won't leave him alone. They press at the base of his skull, into the corners of his thoughts, and he can't stop poking at the words, at the night before. Leia pauses briefly from her argument with Han to frown at him.

“Are you alright, Cassian?” she asks in a measured voice.

He shrugs, grimaces slightly. “Fine,” he says, and then continues, because it is impossible not to like Leia Organa, even a little bit. “I'm distracted. It won't happen again.”

“I bet it’s something to do with love,” Han says snidely. “It always is. Ruins a good man, you know.” But he glances at Leia as he says it, almost imperceptibly.

Leia smiles at him, in that evaluating way that makes him think she knows more so than she's telling him, and presses some folders into his hands.

“Get these done by Thursday. And good luck.”

“Hey,” says Han, incredulity raising his voice in volume as he follows Leia down the hall, “ _that's_ all he gets? When I was distracted, you threatened to dock my pay and almost _fired_ me.”

“How is he still working here?” mutters a woman derisively as she ducks into her office, but Cassian knows. Han has pull on Leia, just like Jyn has pull on him, and it's that stupid pull that makes him want to do brash, _unthinkable_ things, like shove the hair out of her eyes and spend more than just nights at a bar with her.

 

.

.

.

 

That night, Jyn isn't at the bar, and Baze’s words are back again, licking into his spine like flames. He wonders if she kept his jacket, or if it is already shoved into the box of things that she leaves behind as she runs away. It burns at the mouth; a side effect of loving and losing a girl about to take flight.

But then, as he is about to leave, a figure presses into the seat beside him, and she is smiling at him. There are fragments of indecision lodged in her eyes, but her smile is firm.

“Didn't think you'd get rid of me that easily, did you?”

“Course not,” he lies, and her sharp edges soften, just a little bit.

“Thanks for the jacket.”

A tiny spark of hope—the deadliest word known to mankind—begins to spiral in his chest. “Thanks for the company,” he says.

“Yeah, well,” she shrugs, “I’m just here to get Krennic. You're just here to guard me from doing that.”

But she doesn't glance over at Orson Krennic all night, and there is something light in her words that he doesn't dare to bring up.

 

.

.

.

 

“This is becoming a problem,” Kay says, following Cassian down the grains aisle.

“What, you don't like wholemeal?” asks Cassian, picking up a bag of bread and examining it so he doesn't have to look at Kay.

“I don't like Jyn Erso,” Kay clarifies, pausing just long enough to shoot a perfunctory glare at a man attempting to wedge past with his trolley.

Cassian sighs and drops the bread into his own trolley. “Leave it, Kay.”

“I cannot. She is dangerous to your current lifestyle,” Kay presses. “She has switched up your routine. Made you _unpredictable_.” A pause. “I do not like it when you are unpredictable.”

“Do you really want to talk about this in the grocery store?” he asks, and immediately knows it's the wrong thing to say, judging by Kay’s smug smile.

“So you admit there is something to talk about.”

He turns. “What is it, then? Why are you so concerned with Jyn?”

“Because you are concerned _for_ her. Or by her, or perhaps both,” says Kay. “There is nothing logical about this… friendship. I thought that perhaps you were truly trying to encourage her to stop causing trouble with Orson Krennic—”

“I _was_.”

“—but it seems to have progressed into something different. Tell me, Cassian.” Kay pauses, as if weighing his words. “Do you have feelings for Jyn Erso?”

Cassian scoffs, turns back to the aisle, and begins to study a loaf of bread that he has no intention of buying.

“That is not an appropriate answer,” Kay says. There is a long silence, Cassian's fingers digging into the bread, and then, “Oh. That is… inconvenient.”

And Kay doesn't know the half of it.

 

.

.

.

 

Jyn is not there that night, and something like regret, maybe even _fear_ if he's honest with himself, grips at his throat. _Promise her a home and she'll make herself an orphan_.

Maybe he promised her just a little too much, by showing up every night like this, pressing into the corners of her life and seeking a friend. He should stop, he knows, but Jyn Erso makes him want to promise things, and more importantly, she makes him want to keep those promises. And that is foolish, because in the end Jyn is just a girl.

But she's not, not to him. She's bigger than her bones, and sharper than he'll give her credit, and sometimes he feels like he would do dangerous, reckless things just for a hint of her smile.

Ultimately, he knows where he lies. (It's somewhere deep where the sun doesn't shine: his heart.) But Jyn is more complicated. She doesn't let a single thing show on her face, he has to search for the amusement in her eyes or the worried crinkle of his forehead.

The bartender nods at his empty glass.

“You looking for another?”

“No,” says Cassian, pulling on his jacket, “I think I've got what I'm looking for.”

 

.

.

.

 

Jyn Erso’s doorstep is exactly how he pictured it. The paint is peeling from her front door, there is a plethora of unopened envelopes spilling from the mail slot. He finds himself scanning them as he waits for her to answer the door. Bills, mostly. Nothing significant, but then again, that hardly means anything with Jyn. No one sends mail anymore.

The door opens. Jyn leans against her doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. Her nose is red, her cheeks are flushed.

“Cassian.”

“You weren't at the bar for three days in a row,” he says, and shrugs.

“Doesn't explain how you know where I live,” she says.

“Your friends told me.”

She crooks one eyebrow, carefully. “I don't have friends.”

“What do you call Bodhi, then? Or Chirrut, or Baze,” he counters, hands shoved in his pockets. _Or me?_ he wants to say.

She studies him for a moment. Then, unpredictably, she smiles. “Come in.”

Her house is small, all wooden flooring and white walls, books shoved in corners and a dead plant on the window sill. Cosy, maybe, but that's not the right word to describe it. She points him to the couch and moves to the kitchen, and he flips through the photo album on the coffee table.

“Where were you, then?” he calls.

“Sick,” she says, sinking into the couch next to him and pressing a cup of coffee into his hands.

“And you dropped everything because of that?” he asks, glancing at her.

“Yeah,” says Jyn, staring at him from under her eyelashes. “What, you don't believe me?”

“Not on the slightest.”

“Good,” she says, and grins, just a little. “Proves you know me.”

His eyes wander then, and land on a snatch of blue, tucked right into the edge of the couch. His jacket. Crumpled. It looks like it's been used. His heart starts to do a funny little thing in the space between his ribs again, that uncomfortableness that comes with the territory of Jyn Erso.

“Sorry,” says Jyn. If he didn't know her better, he might even say she looks a little embarrassed.

“Don't be. I hated that jacket,” he says, which is a lie. But it's for the greater good, in the end, because he thinks the idea of Jyn wearing his jacket might be infinitesimally better than the jacket itself. But she looks a little uncomfortable all of a sudden, like she's thinking too hard, and he tears his gaze away. “You want to tell me the real reason you weren't at the bar?”

Jyn looks down at her hands. “Didn't feel the need to go anymore.”

“What, you've suddenly forgotten your quest for vengeance? You've suddenly forgiven Krennic?” He snorts. “I don't buy that for a second.”

Her eyes flash, then, and she makes a little noise at the back of her throat. “Come on, Cassian.”

Scornful. But at least she's looking at him, now. “Jyn?”

“We both know I could have handled Krennic anytime of the day,” Jyn says, roughly. “I could have cornered him while you were at work, it would have been downright _easy_ to go behind your back, even _now_. Krennic could have an assortment of different bruises and you wouldn't find out until the very next day.”

Cassian doesn't say anything for a minute. He focuses on her face. Her mouth is pressed, her eyes sharp. Green. He's not sure why he can't stop focusing on that aspect of her.

 _Promise her a home, and she’ll make herself an orphan_. But he's tired of doing this. He's tired of pretending like he wouldn't do anything she wanted.

“Then why,” he says, very carefully. “Why haven't you done it? Why do you keep coming back to the bar?”

Her mouth opens. Closes, again. She looks very small of a sudden, like she's finally her own height instead of blazing out of her skin.

“I don't know,” she says finally. “Why do you keep coming back for me?”

Cassian shrugs, and tries to school into his features into a perfect picture of nonchalance. “Does it matter?” he asks, the words coming out around the coal in his throat.

“Yeah.” There's no hesitance this time, just that military determination he's come to know. “ _Yes_. It matters.”  

“Why?” His hearts in his throat. He can't stop asking. Her eyes are narrowing, hands creeping into fists, and even though he's seen her break a nose without flinching, he finds the sight strangely endearing.

“I asked you first.”

He frowns. “Actually, I think I did—”

“I need this answer,” Jyn interrupts. He wants to reach out and coax her hands from fists, but he doesn't. Clutches his coffee mug tightly instead. He wants to give her an answer, it's just the matter of if he actually can.

“I need yours too,” he says. “This works both ways. Where were you tonight?” She's silent, gaze stony, and something heavy drops into his stomach. “You don't trust me.”

“No,” she says, and the force of it makes him freeze. “No,” she says again, hauling in a deep breath, “I do trust you. And that's the problem.”

“The problem,” he echoes. She doesn't say anything, then, stubbornly silent, her mouth pressed together, arms crossed against her chest. “Jyn,” he says again, the word heavy on his tongue, “the problem?”

He's waiting for her to say something, _anything_ , but he knows her. She doesn't cut her losses. She doesn't put her heart on the line. He used to be like that too. He used to be like that, before a Thursday night at the bar. But now it's all twisted up, all stretched out of proportion. He can't stop himself.

“I should go,” says Cassian, setting down the coffee cup before his fingers start to shake.

He heads to the door, and she flinches, mouth opening, like she can't help herself. He waits for her to ask him to stay. Because he would, if she wanted. But she doesn't, and he spills out onto her doorstep.

“Cassian,” she says, like it's being pulled out of her. She hesitates. “You forgot your jacket.”

“Keep it,” he tells her, and steps out onto the street.

 

.

.

.

 

 _Why do you keep coming back for me?_ He doesn't know. He does know. If there is someone worth going back for, it's Jyn. But it's more than that. Deeper than that. He can't quantify it, past the green eyes and the quick mouth and the balled fists, but it's there. He hasn't felt it before. He's not even sure it's a real feeling.

“It's a real feeling,” says Bodhi. He's smiling, in that anxious, reassuring way of his. “It even has a name.”

Cassian frowns at him over his beer. “You've been spending too much time with Chirrut.”

“Then—you’ve been spending too much time with Jyn.”

“Bodhi.”

“Sorry.” But Bodhi’s smile is still stuck dangerously in place, teetering over his own drink like he knows a little too much. “It's true though, right?”

“Maybe,” he allows noncommittally, and Bodhi makes a small noise.

“You shouldn't worry.”

Cassian's eyes find the empty spot where Jyn is supposed to be, and then the empty spot where Krennic is supposed to be. He schools his features into neutrality.

“I'm not.”

“Okay,” says Bodhi. Cassian likes that about him, likes that he can accept things with a smile and a shrug of his shoulders. Not submissive, just understanding.

“Where do you think Krennic is?” he asks, because he can't help himself.

Bodhi’s eyes flit towards the empty table. He chews his lip for a second. “It wasn't Jyn. Whatever happened to him, it wasn't Jyn. She made you a promise.” His eyes return to fix on Cassian, hands pausing from their fiddling for just a moment. “Jyn doesn't break her promises.”

“I believe that,” says Cassian, because he does.

“She’ll come back,” Bodhi says faithfully, without a trace of doubt in his voice.

“How do you know?”

“I just have a feeling,” says Bodhi firmly. Cassian wishes everyone would quit being so _vague_.

 

.

.

.

 

It has been three weeks since he has heard anything from Jyn Erso, and the amount of time his subconscious spends lingering on her is alarming, especially considering that the odds of ever seeing her again are quite slim, according to Kay.

And he's fine, he _is_ , because Cassian Andor is the dictionary definition of fine (or at least pretending to be), but when a figure slides next to him at the bar approximately three weeks later, Cassian can't help but tense up. Stiff fingers, straight back, eyes fixed firmly on his glass.

“Hey,” she says, and that one word is all that's needed for him to break his resolve and glance up at her. Wry smile, hair loose, firm eyes. She looks exactly the same and entirely different. She looks downright awful. (She looks downright beautiful.)

“I thought you left,” he says after a heartbeat.

Jyn cocks her head. “Who told you that?”

“Common sense.”

“Well, your common sense is wrong,” Jyn informs him bluntly. He doesn't say anything for a long moment, partly because he doesn't know what to say, mostly because he can't believe she came back. After a long moment, she reaches out to grab him by the arm, pulls him through the crowd and through a door he's never seen before, revealing a tiny storeroom and flicking on the light.

“Relax,” says Jyn, closing the door. He sits himself on the table. “I know the owner.”

Cassian raises his eyebrows, finally finds his words. It's easier when it's not about anything important. “You’re friends with Lando Calrissian?”

“Define friends,” she says, and opens a box of medical supplies. Her eyes narrow at him almost impenetrably. “Your knuckles are grazed.”

“I just punched Orson Krennic.”

“And his nose wasn't made out of concrete, the last I heard.” She leans on the table and studied him. “What else have you been doing?”

Wishing she'd come back. Taking it out on his surroundings. Being absurdly stupid.

“Nothing,” he says, and she fishes cloth out of the box and holds it under a running tap.

“Liar,” she says, but he's forgotten how to breathe. She's pressing in close now, body brushing against his knees. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know how to say it. She presses the cloth to his knuckles, presumably to soothe the sting, but her touch makes him burn.

“I thought you left,” he says again, finally, and she doesn't look up at him.

“I thought I did too. But my plane took off three minutes ago.”

He blinks at her. “You could catch another.”

“I could,” says Jyn mildly. “I _should_. I always do.” She pauses. Glances up at him, meets his eyes for the first time. “Do you want me to?”

“I—” he stutters. Stops. The truth is, he has never wanted anyone to stay more. But to admit it, to tell her so… would that mean scaring her away? Pushing her out? His heart decides for him. “No. I want you to stay.”

“Good,” she says, fingers running down the lapels of his jacket, suddenly quiet. “I don't want to leave.”

“Good,” he echoes. He needs to say it now. It's now or never. “Then you'll stay?”

Jyn smiles at him. One of those rare, proper smiles, those ones that leave him thinking about her for days on end. He won't be able to wash this particular image of her for days on end, Cassian knows. He's not even sure if he wants to.

“I’ll stay.”

 

.

.

.

 

Kay corners Cassian at his desk three days later, his glare accusing, his arms crossed.

“You are not working,” says Kay. “Staring blankly at a monitor is inefficient and unproductive. It is a waste of time.”

Cassian sighs, bites back a grin. “ _Kay_.”

“You are thinking about her, aren't you?” Kay says bluntly. “Jyn Erso. You are thinking about her, and she is distracting you from your work. Again.”

“Kay,” hisses Cassian. “Keep your voice down.” For he may be a fool in love, but he's not quite ready to ruin his reputation in front of the whole office yet.

“Your colleagues are well aware of your situation,” says Kay blandly. “I believe Han Solo has started a betting pool.”

Cassian pauses, turns to evaluate his workmates suspiciously, but they have all conveniently disappeared on a coffee break all of a sudden. The few poor souls that remain shrink down into their seats, eyes fixed on their work. He scowls.

“What I am thinking about isn't your business.”

“You are my best friend,” says Kay. “It is most undoubtedly my business.” But he seems to be reconsidering as Cassian turns back to his files, and it is several long minutes before he speaks again. “I know you do not _need_ my advice, but in case you want it…” Another pause. “I believe that it would be best to inform Jyn Erso of your feelings sooner rather than later.”

That catches Cassian's attention. His head jerks up, his mouth falls open slightly, even as his eyes are narrowing.

“I thought you disapproved of Jyn Erso. I thought you said she was a bad influence.”

“She is no doubt a hazard to you work ethics. But I cannot deny that Jyn Erso… makes you very, very happy,” Kay concedes slowly, like it's physically hurting him.

Cassian feels an odd sort of warmth spread through his body, and Kay frowns at him.

“Stop looking at me like that. Cassian. I do not like it. Cassian, this is alarming. _Stop smiling._ ”

 

.

.

.

 

He's not sure why he's standing on the doorstep in the pouring rain, like one of those romantic movies he loves to scorn. He's not sure why, except for the way her smile is imprinted in blazing letters on his heart, and her willingness to punch Orson Krennic for hurting her family, and Kay’s words, over and over like a broken record. _Jyn Erso… makes you very, very happy_.

And it's true, but he's never told her that and she needs to know, and he needs to say it, and—

The door opens. Jyn is standing there, looking exceptionally beautiful, brazen and bright and surprised.

“Cassian,” she says, measured.

“Jyn,” says Cassian. His mind is hurtling through a racetrack of the calendar, and the days are all her. _You are fond of Jyn Erso. You should invite her to dinner. I bet it has something to do with love. Tell me, Cassian. Do you have feelings for Jyn Erso? Then—you’ve been spending too much time with Jyn. Jyn Erso... makes you very, very happy._

Everyone can see it. He's been blind. But she has, too. _Why do you keep coming back for me?_ Because he can't help it. Because he can't imagine leaving her behind.

“I want to tell you something,” he says, finally. “And I should have said it a while ago. But somebody told me that if I tried to be too honest with myself, you'd leave.”

She's leaning against the door. Studying him. Her features are unexpectedly soft. “Maybe,” she admits. “But I've never had anything worth staying for before.”  

“You do now,” he says without meaning too. “You have me.”

“Do I?” Her eyes are glinting. She looks a little afraid. She looks a little amused. Sharp contrast, perfectly Jyn. He's so not getting over her.

“Yes,” says Cassian, no hesitation. She blinks.

“In what way?”

“Any way. Every way. Whichever way you want,” he says earnestly, still dripping with rain. He holds his breath. She takes a step forward, and a rivulet of water trickles down her nose.

“Whichever way,” she echoes, dangerously close now. Scarily close. Heart-stoppingly close. If he craned his neck all the way down, he could kiss her. He could taste the rain on her lips. “What if you want to go a different way?”

“Trust me,” he assures quietly. He can't manage anything louder, not when she's creeping closer to him, her hands drifting to his chest. “I am here _every_ way. _All_ the way.”

“You better,” she mumbles, and pushes herself up on her toes so that she's leaning into him, her lips brushing so close that their breaths mingle. Peppermint. Charcoal. Just a few more inches. He presses in closer, hands finding her jaw, lips closing in.

“Hey,” she says all of a sudden, pressing on his chest. He pulls back instantly; his heart tightens for one terrifying moment.

“Jyn?”

“Nothing,” she says, a small smile curling onto her lips, “I just wanted to be the one to kiss you first.” Her hands fist into his shirt, and she surges upwards to capture his lips in hers.

 

.

.

.

 

“You never said it.”

They're curled in her bed, underneath her soft covers and softer sheets. He likes her bed. But he likes her more, likes her warm weight against his side, her soft arm draped across his chest.

“What?” he asks, and she tilts her eyes up to him, lips curving.

“You never said that you loved me. Or that you even liked me.”

“It was implied,” he defends, and she jabs his chest.

“Awfully romantic.”

“We’re not romantic people,” he says, which is true. But they fall silent, and he thinks, _screw_ being those kind of people. “Jyn Erso, I'm in love with you, and I love you, and I just stood outside in the rain for you like some sappy movie.”

She laughs, a rumble against his side, and he feels warm all over.

“I love you too,” she says, and before he can bask in the brilliance of the statement, she sweeps out of bed and begins to pull her clothes on.

“Where are you doing?” he asks in alarm, and she glances at him, all subtle grin and sly trouble.

“I'm going to find Orson Krennic, and thank him for introducing you to me.”

He raises his eyebrows. “And then?”

“Then I'm going to punch his lights out,” she admits.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed. “Okay. Then I'm coming with you.”

“Good,” she says, and he grabs his jacket, and she grabs his hand, and they walk out the door.

 

.

.

.

 

_And maybe you're too good for me,  
but I'm only a fool for you. _


End file.
